Al and I were watching TV last night and there was an ad which started something like ‘If you had a spare $10,000.00 in your pocket what would you do with it?’ …and I said "An IVF cycle". Al just looked at me and said "You want a baby that much? You didn’t even hesitate". Honestly, it just came out before I even realised the thought was there. Pop! And then there were those 3 words hanging in the air in front of me (yes, I know that IVF is an acronym, but somehow ‘there were those two words and an acronym hanging in the air’ doesn’t quite have the same ring to it). I think he was expecting me to say "A shopping trip to Vegas" or something. Ha! Haha! Got him! ………Althouuuughhh ….No. The IVF. Definitely. And perhaps I’d just offer up a few heartfelt and earnest prayers that the cycle didn’t cost the full $10,000.00 whack, and I’d be able to squeeze a pair of shoes or a handbag out of it as well.
That little moment did get me thinking about my infertility though, and the impact that it has had on my life. Sometimes, I feel as though I have almost become about my infertility. I identify myself with it and it’s a huge part of who I am. After all, my life has revolved around it for almost 2 years. I have good days and bad days, days where it’s just normal life and absolutely lovely, and days where I can’t think of anything but the baby I haven’t been able to have, and my disgusting traitorous body which won’t do what it’s supposed to. Some days I just can’t believe that I’m that person who could ovulate a trailer-load of eggs, stand on their head after sex and think fertile thoughts up the wazoo, but who it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference for.
I can’t explain to you the devastation and sense of loss that I felt, the lows I reached, when I realised and tried to accept that this wasn’t going to be easy for us. I don’t think you’d believe me, and, to be honest, I don’t even want to remember those months where I had to fight every single day to claw back my sanity. I know that all sounds terribly dramatic, but I felt like I was living in this bubble where everything was kind of muffled, the world was shades of grey and there was this permanent pounding in my ears. In the end, it wasn’t even me that was holding onto my sanity by a thread. Al was doing it for me because I was completely incapable. I was grieving.
I do still feel the most incredible rage sometimes. It sneaks up on me every now and again, though luckily, not very often. I do think I’m entitled to it, and it’s generally short lived so in my opinion, it's no harm, no foul. It gets it out too, and away from my heart. Usually it comes from encounters with well meaning people who just have absolutely no idea about infertility. It never ceases to amaze me how someone who has taken 3 months to get pregnant naturally thinks that theirs is an example of ‘the light at the end of the tunnel …evidence that there is an end to the waiting’ (I mean, seriously? How do some people think?). That sort of comment hurts people like me. There are also the ‘just relax’ sorts, the ‘don’t think about it’ sorts, and the ‘it’ll happen when it happens’ sorts. Honestly, although I even thought those things myself in the early days, once you get to 12 months, 18 months …well, it’s quite obvious that you can relax yourself into oblivion and all you’re going to be at the end of it is …relaxed. Not pregnant. Never pregnant.
Oh, and there are also the (this is one of my favourites) ‘We tried for ages (read - two months) and then we booked a holiday to Timbuctoo, and found out we were pregnant [insert conclusion of choice here - a) after we paid an enormous deposit b) just before we left c) when we got back]!" Oooohhh …. Oh, well then! Point me in the direction of the travel agent! (Actually, that one could be kind of handy …I can see the conversation now. Me saying to Al ..."Darling, we really need to book a shopping holiday to Vegas so we can fall pregnant. It'll work, honest!"). Murphy's Law and all that. If you make it so that it would be as inconvenient as humanly possible to fall pregnant, then it’ll happen. I wonder if that would work if I went out and spent a fortune on the new handbag I've been badgering Al about …..? It’d obviously be pretty crazy if I was actually, finally pregnant when Al beats me over the head with a spade and buries me in the back yard …Still, I could ward him off by waving a positive HPT under his nose (which would hopefully work) AND I’d have a new handbag.
The big thing to understand, for those of you who know an infertile, is that if there is a reason that that couple aren’t getting pregnant, a medial diagnosis to back it up, then relaxing, waiting, hoping …none of it will change anything. If they get pregnant naturally, it’s a miracle. It means that something has gone absolutely, incredibly, right, when by rights it shouldn’t have.
And lastly, just remember that if you know someone who is infertile and struggling to conceive – they are fighting it every single day. Some of those days are going to be good, and some of those days are going to be very, very bad. Bear with them.
No comments:
Post a Comment